Nightmares
by VestaraJade
Summary: Simon hasn't been able to sleep well since Baz left. The horror of his traumatic fight with the Mage and the Humdrum keep coming bacl to him at night. Set about a year after Carry On. Rated T for language.


**A/N: I just finished reading Carry on for the first time, and I am so in love with the dynamic between Baz and Simon! (I mean, who isn't, really?) So I hauled out my laptop and wrote my first fic in over a year. Let me know what you think!**

Simon

 _The air was suffocating. All-encompassing. He couldn't breathe. His lungs were fire, he was fire. Blood. Whose? Everywhere. Flashes. Voices. He couldn't breathe. Pain._

Simon Snow awoke in a cold sweat, his chest heaving. He sat bolt upright in his bed, unconsciously reaching towards the other side, though he knew there was no one there. He felt the cold pillow, soft to the touch and empty. Of course it was empty. Simon stood, stretching his sore limbs, feeling the tension his nightmares had caused. He made his way through the dark to the bathroom and turned on the sink, splashing the cool water onto his flushed face. He glanced in the mirror, the moonlight streaming through the small bathroom window illuminating his haunted appearance.

"Fuck," he muttered to himself. The nightmares were taking their toll on his good looks. The circles under his eyes were getting darker with each passing day, and his face was stretched tight from stress. It had been over a year since it had all ended. His schooling. His magick. His time as the Mage's heir. At first it had been fine, he'd shared a flat with Penelope for five months, and it had been great. They'd always been the best of friends, and she truly brought out the good in him. But then she'd left, moved to America to be with Micah. It was good. She was happy there. She'd called all the time at first, they chatted about the strange Americans, and her classes at the Uni there. College. Whatever they called it. But she was making new friends, and Simon knew they were growing apart. So he'd stopped calling. And so had she. But it had been fine. Simon still had Baz, after all, and Baz was more than enough. Baz had used the Grimm-Pitch fortune to secure them an estate out in the middle of nowhere. A sodding cottage of all things. (Baz insisted it was a farmhouse, but they both knew better.) And so there they'd lived. Simon finally getting a chance at a normal life. It was funny, how well they worked together. Seven years of being forced to live in a tower with each other had built a routine, one that hadn't faded during his time with Penelope. Simon showered in the morning, Baz in the evening. Simon cooked breakfast (Baz had also managed to wheedle the recipe for the famous Cherry Scones out of the Chef Pritchard, and Simon made them just right.) He did the chores too. Baz went to school. He was taking forensics classes at nearest university, and excelled in all his classes. Life was good. Too good. It hurt to think about. Simon missed his boyfriend with the fiercest of aches. Not even an ache. Pure pain. Sometimes he managed to push it away, ignore it, like he had with Watford during his summers away. But it wouldn't stay away for long. It had been almost three months since Baz left. Three long, miserable months. At first Simon was so depressed that he didn't know how his life could get any worse. Then the nightmares started. He supposed they had always been there, lurking below the surface, waiting to pounce. But being with Penelope, then Baz, had kept them at bay. No. He couldn't think about the nightmares. He shouldn't be thinking about Baz either. Baz had to find his own way right now. But he would come back. He had to come back. In the meantime, Simon would wait. And not think. Not thinking was something he used to be good at. Now it was more difficult. He used to be so sure of his fate. He would fight the Humdrum, and probably die. That was it. Except he hadn't. It was worse than that. His magick was gone, and all his plans were gone with it. He was no longer the Mage's Heir, no longer a part of the Magickkal community. He'd tried of course. At first he went to parties, hung out with his friends from school, pretended. And yet he was unable to shake the feeling that he no longer belonged. His friends all used magick around him, and it hurt. It was a constant reminder of his failings. And it was why Baz had left him.

Simon turned away from the mirror and walked back in the bedroom. His curls were damp with sweat, but now that his spasms had stopped, the cool air blowing through the open bedroom window caused him to shiver. But he wouldn't shut it. Couldn't bring himself to. He remembered fighting with Baz about the window being open at night, back at Watford's. Back when they hated each other. Now it was a joke between them. Baz never used the door. When he used to go hunting at night, he would leave through the window, and Simon would wait for his return. So now Simon left the window open, waiting for his return.

"Pathetic," he grumbled as he slid back into bed. On Baz's side this time. 

Baz

Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch sniffed the stale air with distaste. Sometimes he wished he didn't have such a keen sense of smell. This seedy, grubby, underground pub reeked of beer, sweat, and human excrement. Not that he was overly surprised, given the owners. He waited at the bar, trying not to let his thoughts catch up with him. At long last, the last drunken patron had been roughly escorted from the premises, and Baz was alone. Almost.

"Ey," grunted an unpleasant voice. "We're all closed up 'ere. Take ya drink and gerrout."

Baz turned and eyed the bartender, an unpleasant troll-like man. It never ceased to amaze him how people just pretended as though he was another down-on-his-luck magickian. I mean, sure, he wasn't _that_ fancy, but he had always prided himself on dressing well and keeping himself well-groomed. He had his hair slicked back and was wearing an emerald green vest over his starched white shirt. Simon's favorite colour. Crowley. He hadn't meant to think about Simon. But then again, when did he ever?

"My apologies good sir," he said in his steeliest voice. "I was just hoping to finish my drink."

"I said ya can take it with ya. Now scram. Donchu got somewhere to be? It's almost mornin'."

Baz thought about it. Did he have somewhere to be? He knew where he wanted to be, and where he should be. And yet he didn't think that he was ready to admit his failure to the man he loved. The failure that would mean the end of Simon's hope. And Simon did have hope, no matter how much he tried to hide it, no matter how much he insisted that Baz shouldn't even bother searching for the answers Simon so desperately needed. But he'd been gone almost three months, and he had exhausted all his resources, and himself.

"Go on, git yerself home, boy!"

 _Home._ Baz set down his tumbler with a definitive clunk and donned his overcoat. As he stepped out into the bitter cold, he couldn't stop a smile from spreading across his face, causing his teeth to glitter in the moonlight. _Home._

Simon

Simon slipped on his silk pyjama bottoms, mentally preparing himself for another night of terror. He slid into bed, and grimaced as his back hit the pillow. His wing stumps were still sore, but it was the memory of his surgery and why it had happened that rankled him more. When Baz had left, neither of them had realized that no one would be able to spell Simon's wings and tail to make them invisible. It wasn't like Simon had been thinking about the future during their argument. He had been solely focused on the present. He sighed as he recalled his last glimpse of Baz, as he ran off into the night.

" _Why can't I go with you?!' Simon demanded, his fists clenched as he watch Baz meticulously folding his suits and packing them into a small knapsack._

" _I've already told you, Snow. The people I'm meeting going to see, they'd take one look at your curly hair and innocent eyes and you know what they'd see? Prey. Trust me, it is best that I do this by myself." Baz was looking at him now, pity in his eyes. Simon hated being pitied. Especially by his boyfriend. "Please don't go! It won't be safe for you either. It's not worth it Baz, I'm fine! I don't need Magick!" It was just another repetition of the argument they'd been having for weeks. Baz stopped packing and took him by the shoulders. "Snow, I know you. You want your magick back. And if there's a way for you to get it, I'm not going to stop until I find it. Because I can't see you like this anymore. Acting like you have no friends, like nothing matters."_

" _You matter." Simon was desperate now, searching for any reason to keep Baz from leaving. And yet, part of Simon knew Baz was right. So long as there was a possibility Simon could have his old life back, neither of them would be able to be happy._

Or so he'd thought. Now, nothing mattered to him except having Baz back in his arms. Fuck magick. Who needed it anyway? The Normals managed just fine without it. Baz had called him the next day, from a pay phone at a location he refused to disclose. He told Simon that he was going to need to go underground for a while, and not to expect him to call again unless he found something. Simon begged him to come back, but they both knew it was just for show. Baz had muttered something about running out of quarters, told him to contact the Grimm-Pitches if he needed anything, and then hung up. "I love you," Simon had whispered into the dial tone, knowing it was too late. He had decided to go to the pub and drown his sorrows in alcohol, only to realize that his wings and tail were fully visible. After staying home for four weeks without hearing so much as a peep from Baz, he had steeled himself and gone to have them removed. The doctor was one of us, one of them, actually. Simon wasn't part of the "us" anymore. The doctor had been very professional. Simon missed his wings, but not as much as he missed Baz. Not nearly as much. It was funny, without his wings, he finally felt completely Normal. He wasn't sure if he liked it, but it was definitely a new experience. The wings and tail always served as a reminder of his magick anyway; an excruciating reminder. Simon banished these thoughts from his mind, settled into the mattress and braced himself for the nightmares to begin. 

Baz

Baz huddled against the shuttered window of the train, trying to sleep. But he was too nervous. Too excited. It had been far too long since he had seen Simon, run his hands through those golden curls, gazed into his eyes, kissed his lips. He tried to recall the last time he had seen Simon, leaning out the of their farmhouse window, calling after him to be safe.

" _Why can't I go with you?!" Baz was folding his clothes and putting them into a bag that was enchanted to be bigger inside when he heard Simon behind him. As if they hadn't already been over this multiple times. Baz sighed. "I've already told you, Snow. The people I'm going to see, they'd take one look at your curly hair and innocent eyes and you know what they'd see? Prey. Trust me, it is best that I do this by myself." He didn't want to. The idea of facing these people terrified him. But unlike Simon, he could act. He'd just pretend to be completely at ease and get the info he needed. Simon would be a distraction. "Please don't go! It won't be safe for you either. It's not worth it Baz, I'm fine! I don't need Magick!" That was bullshit and they both knew it. Simon wasn't fine. He moped around the house all day like a sad puppy, and it hurt Baz so badly to see him like this. Baz took his boyfriend (even after a year it seemed strange. Boyfriend) by the shoulders and said, "Snow, I know you. You want your magick back. And if there's a way for you to get it, I'm not going to stop until I find it. Because I can't see you like this anymore. Acting like you have no friends, like nothing matters." It was true. Simon needed magick, he was born into it. Without it he saw himself as an empty shell. That wasn't how Baz saw him, but Simon didn't care. "You matter." And Baz's heart broke._

He had tried to call, but he was involved in his quest that he'd only managed to do so once. And now he was going home. To Simon. To his love. _Gods above, Pitch. You're getting down-right sentimental. What would Aunt Fiona say?_ It didn't matter what Aunt Fiona would say. He loved Simon Snow, and he missed him like hell. 

Simon

 _Flashes of light dancing in the edge of his vision. Screaming. He could not get enough air into his lungs. More screaming. And something new. Laughter. The Mage's laughter, echoed by the Simon's. Younger Simon's. The Humdrum. Pain, lungs scorched and dry. He can't escape. He can't breathe. He can't –_ "Simon! Simon, what's wrong!?" It was still a dream. It had to be. Baz was gone. And yet, someone was holding him, shaking him. "Simon, wake up!" Simon obeyed, his eyes focused in on Baz's panicked features swimming above his face. He felt what little air was left in his lungs leave them in a whoosh. He couldn't breathe, but this time he didn't mind. "Baz," he whispered, afraid that talking would shatter whatever illusion he was imagining now. He was shaking. Hard. 

Baz

When he'd arrived at their window, his grin felt like it was breaking his face. Despite the cold, Simon had left it open. An invitation. Hope. Suddenly a scream ripped through the silent air between them. Baz was through the window in a heartbeat, rushing to the bed where Simon lay thrashing. What was going on!? Was someone attacking him? Someone invisible? He grabbed Simon's too-warm shoulders and shook them, calling his name. After a second, Simon's eyes snapped open, but they couldn't seem to focus. "Baz?" His voice was croaking, raw. Not at all what it usually was. Snow was shaking in his hands. His bare chest glistened with sweat, which was more than a little distracting. Baz drew himself back to the task at hand. "What's going on? Are you okay?" Simon shook his head, still taking in sharp breaths of air. Then he nodded. "I-I'm fine. N-nightmare." His voice quavered. "Crowley, Snow! I thought you were dying." Simon was slowly calming down, taking deeper breaths. "So did I," he managed to say. With the threat of immediate danger gone, Baz took the oppourtunity to wrap Simon in his arms. He had forgotten how well they fit, Simon's head resting just below Baz's chin. "It's okay," he muttered again and again, calming Simon until he slept. 

Simon

He was so worried it was all a dream that he almost didn't want to open his eyes. But he could feel pressure around his arms, pressure that he'd missed so much. And so he opened his eyes and rolled over. Baz, still in his traveling clothes, loosened his grip so Simon could shift easier. Simon gazed into Baz's murky eyes, losing himself in them. He smiled as Baz brushed his tousled golden hair from his eyes. "Do you want to talk about it?" Baz asked kindly. With his boyfriend back, Simon's nightmares had seemed so far away, but now they came crashing back and he shuddered, shaking his head. "It doesn't matter right now. With you here, they won't bother me." Baz's brow furrowed. "They? You've been having them a lot." It wasn't a question. Simon grimaced. So much for not talking about it. "Pretty much every night since you left." Baz's eyes went wide and he opened his mouth, but Simon put a finger to his lips. "Shh. It doesn't matter tight now. You're back. That's all I care about." Baz sat up in their bed, his expression stormy. "It does matter, Simon. I left and you've been going through hell, and I haven't been here for you!" His head fell and he whispered, "I should have been here for you." Simon sat up too and laid a hand on Baz's arm.

"Baz, don't. It wasn't your fault. It wasn't anyone's fault. All that matters is that you're back." But Baz was angry now, angry at himself. He jumped out of bed and started pacing the floor. "I never should have left in the first place! It was stupid, and reckless, and… and…" Baz growled, deep in his throat. "And it didn't help anything! I trekked across the globe, I searched everywhere, consulted experts, and asked magickians who have been banned for using illegal spells, experimentation, you name it! And for what? Nothing. I can't help you get your magick back Simon. I never should have tried." Simon rose and gripped Baz's arm. "Hey. Hey! You know very well I'd still be miserable if you hadn't tried." Baz snorted. "You're going to be miserable now! You won't ever have magick again! Simon do you reali-" He stopped his ranting, and his voice went quiet with shock. "Simon. Where are your wings?" Simon winced. Fuck. "I-I wanted to have them taken off. They were a nuisance anyway, really. And now my tail won't get all tangled in the garden hose." He attempted a winning smile, but it didn't matter, he could see in Baz's face that he realized why they were gone. Simon grabbed his other arm and tried to get him to look up at him, but Baz couldn't meet his eyes. To Simon's dismay, he saw that Baz was about to cry. 

Baz

 _To borrow one of Simon's favorite phrases, I am a fucking idiot. How could I not realize what leaving would do to him!?_ Baz felt his eyes burning as the implications of what he'd done sunk in. Simon's wings, his tail, his flight, were gone for good. Because of Baz. There was no way to get them back. Because of him. How had he not noticed? Because he'd been too wrapped up in being with Simon again that he hadn't seen what his absence had cost. He tried to pull away from Simon, but his grip was too strong. "You don't deserve me, Simon. Let me go." But Simon just held him tighter. "Look at me, Basilton!" He yelled. The shock of his boyfriend using his first name was enough to get Baz to look up, and as he met Simon's piercing blue eyes he saw to his amazement that Simon was smiling. "I'm happy. For the first time I'm not trapped between the world of Mages and Normals. I'm just me. Simon." The funny thing was, he wasn't lying. Baz could see in his eyes that he was sincere. "And you're back. And nothing. Else. Matters. Now kiss me, you goddamn idiot."

Three months slipped away as they met, falling into their old rhythms, lips hungry, searching for places that hadn't been touched in too long. Hot breath met cool skin as they merged, finally together after their separate ordeals. 

Simon

Peace. At last. Simon was curled up in Baz's arms, feeling Baz's cool breath, long and slow, move his curly hair as it skimmed over the top of his head. They lay together in bed, neither wanting to shatter the silence. Simon felt as if he had been missing something, a piece of his heart maybe, and now that it was back, he felt whole again. He smiled as he imagined Baz rolling his eyes at such a romantic sentiment.

After a few hours had passed, he rose gently, trying not to disturb Baz, and showered. He tiptoed to the kitchen, his wet hair messy and rather spiky. As he began cracking eggs to make toad-in-a-hole for the two of them, he felt Baz's arms wrap around his waist. "You know," Baz murmured into his ear, "I've really missed this old farmhouse. Not as much as I've missed you, but still. It's got such a nice cozy feel. And I don't normally like cozy, but…" His voice trailed off. Simon smiled and leaned back into his boyfriend, his missing piece. "Oh, Baz. We both know it's a cottage."


End file.
